


The Seven Times 'Tadhana' Screwed Me (And the One Time it Didn’t)

by Of_Frost_and_Fire



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, College, F/M, Foreign Language, One Shot Collection, POC appreciation, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Series, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Frost_and_Fire/pseuds/Of_Frost_and_Fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Title has changed to the correct usage of word)</p><p>His mother always used to speak in their language, taught him everything in Tagalog first then allowed the school system to teach him the rest. So when she had taught him about tadhana, she spoke about the first time she had met his father. It was fanciful, it was magic, it was everything that he cared nothing about when all he wanted to do was wield his plastic sword and play Perseus. </p><p>So when it was his turn to have his moment, his tadhana, he had no idea that 'magic' came in the pint sized, entitled, stubborn princess package who made him want to pull his hair out because for some reason he was betting that him running into her seven times in a row had to be a big fucking mistake. If this was tadhana, he wanted a new one. </p><p>(or the seven times tadhana screwed bellamy and clarke and the one time it didnt)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What is in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I’m a barista and you’re the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day

**Monday** :

The service industry was like being on jury duty for a murder trial. Everyone was a jerk without their morning coffee, people had no idea what they wanted, half of them were morons and at the end of day it always paid off. Despite being a part of the upper class growing up, Clarke was never one to simply ride along in the high life and take it for granted. She worked for what she had and she liked it that way.

(Not to mention, she was not on speaking terms with her mother)

When she got the job at a local coffee shop near her university, she was excited. She would be making her own money while taking classes which meant less issues with being (cut off) poor. Yet it seems every day like clockwork, the most annoying man on the face of the earth walked through that door and promptly ruined her mood.

“Right on time,” she heard her coworker say under her breath, a light chuckle played at her words. Raven always thought it was entertaining to watch her deal with this guy, only because one of Clarke’s pet peeves in life was people being rude when she was trying to help them.

The blonde smiled, handing back the change to the customer in front of her. She could see the man only two customers back, his tall stature peaking over the others, mop of curly hair half way done in a messy bed head fashion. His clothes were average, a messenger bag slung over his broad chest.

Had he not been the bane of her barista existence she would’ve thought him very attractive. He had dark skin, freckled cheeks with big brown eyes and full lips. His t-shirts were sized well for him but always stretched across his body and upper arms.

With another smile and a “have a good day”, the next customer had walked to the right to wait for their drink at the bar. And per usual, she found her smile faltering as the regular stepped up with his phone to his ear, his hand reaching for his wallet in his back pocket.

“Good morning, sir, what would you--”

“I realize that, but he’s fucking eight years older than you. Eight years, O. That’s almost a decade. That’s fucking creepy. What does a twenty-nine year old want with a twenty one year old anyway?”

Clarke’s professional smile disappeared, she felt the peppy voice she had practiced over the last couple of semesters die as well. Every fucking time.

“Would you like--” she tried again. He opened his wallet and looked for the right bills.

“No, no way in hell. He is not allowed in my apartment…..We don’t even celebrate thanksgiving! We’re gonna start now all of the sudden? Let me guess, you don’t him you can cook didn’t you?.....You remember starting a fire with mac and cheese? I sure fucking do.”

She was going to punch him. She felt her hands clench into fists before she took a deep breath and leaned her elbows on the cash register in obvious exasperation. Not that he noticed. Even Raven had handed off the last of the drinks and was leaning against the back bar where the coffee beans were. She had her arms folded over the black ‘Kuhuna Koffee’ shirt she wore, a smirk on her face.

“Do you want your--”

A large hand held out five one dollar bills, “Macchiato, Bellamy.” He interrupted her.

Clarke felt her jaw tighten. She took the ones and put in the dink order. The guy didn’t even bother to stop talking, his hand out and palm up for his change as his speech switched from English to another language she didn’t understand in his obvious annoyance with whoever ‘O’ was.

“What would happen if you gave him a high five?” Raven muttered behind her.

“I’d be tempted to break his fingers,” she muttered back, slamming the register closed. She placed the fifteen cents into his palm and watched him put it into his back pocket. Her blue eyes narrowed. He couldn’t even tip her fifteen cents. She took the regular sized cup and clicked her sharpie.

With a smirk of her lips, she handed Raven the paper cup. The barista took it and looked at the scrawled name and let out a bark of laughter.

“That’s worse than last time.” Raven said. Clarke nodded her head at the woman in her small victory before greeting the next customer.

Bellamy felt the pulsing in the back of his skull, the most current reaction he got from talking on the phone with his sister. She always started work at nine at the bakery before she went to classes until eight at night, so it became a regular thing for her to call him at eight in the morning since she got the job a month ago. It also stopped him from calling her when at night to make sure she was alive.

(The big brother habits were hard to kick)

“ _Sa matinding pagod,_ don’t you have homework to do instead of dating? I didn’t pay for your books to ignore them for fucking boys.”

_“He’s a man, you dick.”_

“Yes, lets remind me that he’s four years my senior. That will really make me want that _tanga_ at Thanksgiving.”

_“He is not a tanga! I am not a child anymore Bell! I am allowed to have boyfriends! I am allowed to have a life! I am allowed to fuck my boyf--”_

“I will hang up on you, O. I swear to God, do not finish that--”

“Macchiato for Baloney?” the dark haired barista called from behind the counter.   

He snapped his head toward the counter, his brow furrowed. Baloney? Who named their kid…the pair of dark eyes and a knowing smile found him standing there. The barista with the name tag ‘Raven’ pushed the cup toward him and he couldn’t help but point at himself dumbly. He could feel the eyes of other customers waiting, all of them wondering why his name was Baloney.

“Me?”

_“What?”_

Raven nodded with a smile, “Have a good day!”

“Not you, O,” he pulls the phone away from his ear, walking up to the cup and looking at the sharpie drawn letters:

‘Baloni’

That ache in the back of his skull thumps as he scowls. It had been happening for a while now, this constant misspelling of his name and it only happened when that blonde girl was on cash register. He thought it was because she was miss hearing him a couple weeks ago then there would be added ‘i’ or ‘a’ or even a series of letters spelling an entirely different word but managing to still look like an attempt at his name…like today.

He did not sign up for this shit at 8:30 in the morning.

_“Bell? You there?”_

He put the phone back to his ear, “Yeah, sorry, my drink was called.” He headed back towards the door, sending the blonde at the register a glare as he shoved his back into the door to open it.

_“You’re just getting coffee now? No wonder you’re in a pissy mood.”_

“ _Tumahimik ka,_ ” he snapped back, dodging a bike on his way across the street. He needed to get to class and he would be damned if a stupid barista with a lame sense of humor got him riled up before his Ancient History class.

_“Whatever, call me back when you get into a better mood and ready to speak English.”_

There was a click and he knew that she was gone. He scowled, putting his phone into his back pocket. While his sister was too young to really retain any of their mothers native language by the time she passed, he was already speaking fluently at eighteen. She knew some, understood the basics but preferred English to Tagalog. Of course she also knew when he was having a bad day because he would mix them more frequently.

He took a sip of his coffee as he dashed across campus toward his building. At least the coffee was good even if her spelling was a fucking abomination.

 **Wednesday** :

Bellamy stared at his cup, his phone was up to his ear again and he could hear Octavia rustling around doing something or other. The cup on the counter was scrawled on against with sharpie, small swirls of nice lettering spelled out the worst version of his name he could ever have come up with. Was this girl on drugs? Did she not know how to spell a fucking name?

This time it was boy making the drinks, small stature with the name ‘Jasper’ on his name tag. He topped off the next drink with whip cream before sticking a lid on it.

“Hot chocolate for Samantha!” he called out. Bellamy took a side glance at the side of the cup. There were the swirling letters yet perfectly spelled name. The kid Jasper glanced at him then back at his untouched cup, his dark eyes staring at him in confusion.

The barista pushed the cup closer to him with two fingers, “Hey man, your--”

“I know,” Bellamy growled. Jasper back up with his hands in the air, a look on his face of apology before moving on to the next drink. He gave a sigh and grabbed his macchiato, avoiding looking at the cup as he headed for the door. This time when he glared at the blonde, startling blue eyes glared back at him with as much ire. The tension was enough to have the customer in front look back at him.

His fucking cup said ‘Belassomi’.

“ _You’re mumbling in Tagalog again.”_ His sister said over the phone as he made his way across campus to his morning class.

“Do you ever go to ‘Kuhuna Koffee’?” he asked, trying to keep the bite out of his tone. It didn’t work as well as he hoped.

_“Yeah between classes, why? Someone spit in your coffee?”_

 “They never get my name right!”

He could hear Octavia laugh on the other line. He rarely complained about the little things in life, honestly it shouldn’t matter but damn it.

 **Friday** :

Nope.

That was the only word going through his head right now. He ignored the way his sister was calling his name over the phone. Ignored the look of pure fear that the kid Jasper was giving him from over on his side of the bar. He definitely did not ignore the way other customers were moving out of his way as he stomped over to the register.

Her hair was in a braid resting on her shoulder, her black t-shirt stretched over what would be a great set of tits if he could ignore the look of pure venom in those blue eyes as she acknowledged him. Her pink lips were set into a line, height difference made her look cuter (actually she was damn gorgeous in an infuriating way).

He slammed the cup onto the counter in front of her, making sure her handy work faced her.

“Do you not know how to spell?” He demanded. He accepted he had a bit of a short fuse a long time ago. He also accepted that cute blondes in cafes do not qualify as a ‘perfect start to his day’.

Clarke glared at the man, “Oh, so now you want to acknowledge that I’m taking your order?” she glanced at the cup and tilted her head with a smirk, “And I think it fits you perfectly, what do you think Jasper?”

Her sharpie spelled out ‘Belalalame’.

“Not getting into this,” he coworker squeaked from the safe corner at the end of the bar.

“What exactly is your problem, princess? If you’re trying to get my attention or for god’s sake flirt--”

Clarke barely held back her scoff, crossing her arms under her breasts (breasts that he was so not looking at), “Flirt? Are you kidding me? You are the most rude and obnoxious, entitled ass I have ever had the displeasure of serving!”

His eyes widened almost comically and he knew that the entire café had gone quiet. Even Octavia had stopped trying to ask what was going on. He felt his ire rise under his skin as he leaned to loom over her. His hands went to the counter, his iphone under his palm, and her motion followed him, placing her hands on the counter as well. It was obvious she was not trying to be intimidated by him, matching his stance.

“I don’t know what the hell I did to you, _princess_ , but in case you haven’t noticed you started this shit! I know this minimum wage job thing is a struggle for you, but there is a college right across the street that can teach you to spell Bellamy.”

Clarke scowled at him, her blue eyes met his dark ones head on. She was not going to shy away, she was not going to let him win or think for one fucking second that she was intimidate by him. She pulled her hand back stabbing him with a well prepped finger, poking him hard in the shoulder.

“Oh, I’m aware of the location of the college, you asshat.” She bit back, “Why don’t you go crawl back to the frat house you slithered out of and go learn some fucking manners! Rule number one of ordering from someone who makes your drink, don’t be on your phone and be a dick about it.”

Bellamy wanted to just strangle her. How did he explain to this girl that this was his time to talk to his little sister? They talked every day since she was a kid and it wasn’t stopping because this princess decided she needed everyone’s undivided attention.  

“I’m so sorry my world doesn’t revolve around you, princess. But if my name being spelled incorrectly is the sacrifice I have to make to NOT hear your voice, I’d take it any day.” He smirked at her, a snide end to his insult. The rush of satisfaction was short lived as the pissed off look on her face moved into a ‘customer prepped’ smile.

“Well, for my sanity and every other person who has to put up with you, let me make the choice easier for you.”

Before he knew what was going on, she had plucked his phone from his hand and with a flip of her thumb, popped off the top of his cup. His stomach sank like his phone, watching the foam of his macchiato cover the top of his cell phone in a rather impressive disappearing act. His mouth opened and he forgot how to move in his shock before he stuck his hand in the hot beverage and grabbed his soaked phone.

“Fuck!” he hissed before using his shirt to try to dry it off. Clarke watched with a smug look and ignored the guilt that settled in her stomach. She did feel bad but at the same time he kinda deserved it.

“Clarke, in the back now!”

The blonde snapped her head over to her shift supervisor, Roma looked none too happy.

 **Saturday** :

He only saw her again because he know hated her enough to recognize her on campus. She was caring a large canvas case with her, wearing simple jeans tank top and a cardigan. While he wasn’t looking at the curve of her well-shaped ass, he did notice she was standing in front of a large posting wall for students, reaching up to take a number from one of the ‘now hiring’ fliers.

He smirked and walked up beside her, hands in his pockets casual. He saw her look at him from the corner of her eye, watched her stiffen and react before she went back to looking at the board. She was good and he admired her determination. If she wasn’t so fucking annoying (or didnt drown his phone) he would’ve thought it was hot.

“Job hunting?” He teased.

“Shut up.”

“You might want to try something with less people interaction, princess,” he chuckled, “You suck at it.”

She plucked under flier off the board, “Hey Bellamy?”

He looked down at her, surprised she had actually used his name and said it without spitting or fucking it up. It almost sounded…nice? “What?”

“You know all those times I made your macchiato? When I wasn’t on register?”

“Yeah.”

“I decaffed you.”

“You _bitch_.”


	2. Button Pushing Prick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for whatever, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it”

**9:45 AM**

Her heart was racing and honestly she shouldn’t have been as worried as she was, but she had a meeting with the selected students from the Art master’s program to put on a gallery for the program donors. Which meant the chairman of said program was currently waiting with (only) four other students in one of the conference rooms.

Across campus.

On the twelfth floor of the library.

And she over slept.

She had spent her night slaving over project for her class that she had completely forgotten to set her alarm for this morning’s meeting. Raven barely dodged her as she ran around their apartment, throwing on clothes and fixing her hair all with a toothbrush in her mouth. If she was honest with herself, she was a disaster but so were most artists getting their masters. By the time she had ran out of her apartment, she was dressed in a pair of dark jeans that hugged her frame, some boots and a nice white silk blouse. Her hair was up in a messy bun of blonde waves and while most would give her compliments, it was only because she didn’t have time to wash it.

She checked her phone as she walked quickly to the library. She had ran to the campus but refused to look like a complete idiot running around and sweating through her nice shirt. She had five minutes to make it up to the top floor conference room. Fuck.

**9:54 AM**

Clarke moved quickly through the large double doors, making a bee line for the elevator. There was only three and luckily no one was waiting for one on a Friday afternoon. She pressed up arrow, the button lit up green. She checked her phone again. Three minutes.

She didn’t hear the steps behind her, didn’t bother to look around her as she stepped into the opening elevator. With a spin, her finger found the ‘12’ button and she began to press the ‘close door’ button furiously.

“Hey! Hold the elevator--”

Her eyes glanced up and met with a pair a familiar brown. It was him. The guy with the phone from the café. She hadn’t seen him around for a month or so, it was obvious that he wasn’t a part of her major so it didn’t bother her. The less assholes she had to deal with, the better. She kept hitting the closing button.

“You!” he said, brow furrowed as he picked up his pace. His messenger bag was haphazardly in his arms, papers sticking out along with several books under his right arm. Nope. Not today. Clarke still pushed the close door button, holding back the childish need to stick her tongue out at him as the doors closed.

The satisfying ‘ding’ never came. Instead a rather large Roman History and Mythology book got in the way of the door. She looked up as it opened again, her eyes meeting every annoyed dark ones. She glared at him, ignoring the heat on her face from the embarrassment of her own actions. She did not need his commentary right now, not today. He stepped into the elevator next to her, in silence. Both not willing to speak at the moment.

The door closed.

Bellamy glanced at the girl, noticing her eyes were up at the top of the elevator watching the floor count. A part of him, the part that was the mature twenty-five year old he was, told him to just ride it out and suck it up. He would only have to put up with her for a second or two. The more immature side to him, the one with a short fuse and dealt with a pre-teen Octavia, pretty much cackled.

Before the elevator could pass the second floor, he pushed the ‘2’ button. Clarke grit her teeth.

“Really? You needed to take the elevator to the second floor? What kind of lazy--”

Her words died on her tongue as his long fingers slid up all the buttons to the very last one, all of them glowed with a white light telling her that they both would be stopped at every single floor before hitting hers at the top. Her mouth opened and closed, not even sure how to process the amount of anger she had with the realization she was going to be so late.

“You started it,” he said, looking straight forward as the doors opened onto the third floor with a taunting ‘ding’.

“You are the most despicable person I have never met.” She replied, neither of them looked at each other. If she looked at him, she might punch him.

Bellamy smirked, “Can you spell it?”

Clarke pursed her lips in confusion, “Spell what?”

“Despicable.”

Before she could stop it, her hand reached out and landed a punch against his upper arm. He jerked and glared at her as she gave the look right back at him (while ignoring the fact that hitting him hurt like a mother fucker). The doors opened onto the empty fourth floor, people at the long tables looked over at them before looking back to their work, door closing again.

“This all your fault!” she let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the smooth metal wall. Bellamy rolled his eyes at her, his mouth in an unamused line.

“My fault? You couldn’t hold the door open for me!”

“I was in a rush!”

“So was I!”

“To where?” she asked, blue eyes looked at him with the demand to know what exactly was so important that he had hit every single button on the elevator before getting there. The dark haired man held his bag, his confidence wavered a bit as he actually thought about what was so important. Honestly he just needed to get a book from the archive section on the tenth floor for a paper he had to finish by nine tomorrow morning.

“None of your business,” he replied. God, he sounded like a fucking five year old. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that reduced him to nothing short of a second grader. What was he going to do next? Pull her hair? If Octavia saw him, she would never let him live it down.

Six floor.

“Just so you know, I’m supposed to be at an important meeting to do a gallery for the school donors. I don’t know, might be a little more important than ‘none of your business’,” she sighed.

Okay, he felt slightly guilty now. Not that he was going to allow her to see that. Instead he gave her a shrug and turned back to watch the elevator door ‘ding’ open again on the seventh floor. He shouldn’t feel guilty, she destroyed his phone. Upside of it was that he got the new iPhone since Kuhuna Koffee paid for it, but still. The principle of the matter was that he should not feel bad for something this minimal.

The elevator came to a hard stop, shaking a bit before a light above them flickered.

“Oh no.” Clarke mumbled, blue eyes wide. As if on cue a red light turned on just under the buttons, indicating that there was a technical issue.

“Shit,” Bellamy cursed. He glanced at the blonde next to him, he could see her mind at work as if she was trying to think of a way out. She had gotten quiet and it made him a bit more skeptical on the amount of crazy that was in this tiny package. It only took her another moment before she pulled out her cell phone from her back pocket, speed dialing a number.

“Hey Wells? I have a problem. I’m stuck in the elevator in the library….yeah I know. Can you let the library know and email Chairman Wallace for me?” she asked, her voice was no longer stern or angry as it was when addressing him. It was more exhausted. “Thanks, text me details.”

Bellamy adjusted the bag of books and papers in his arms, “Looks like we’re stuck here, princess.”

“This is all your fault,” she said, giving him another punch to the arm. Bellamy rolled his eyes,

“You started it and will you stop doing that?” He growled.

If the gods smiled down at him at all, the rescue team would be there any minute.

**10:47 AM**

“What language do you speak?” Clarke asked suddenly, their comfortable silence was broken again. Both of them had taken up space on the elevator ground, their backs against opposite walls with their feet stretched out in front of them. Clarke had her ankles crossed, one of Bellamy’s history books in her lap as she flipped through it.

They had a companionable silence, something that surprised them both. Neither one of them minded silence and found that it was possible for them to be in close range and not hate each other each moment that passed. Their conversation was here and there, simple things that popped into their heads for the past hour as Bellamy read through his text for his paper.

“Tagalog,” he answered, the book spine rested on his bent knee, “My mom was Filipino.”

“Ah,” she acknowledged, flipping another page. He had noticed that she had relaxed around him as much as he had around her though it wasn’t a feeling he was used to with people. Usually with strangers there was two options: flirting or passing the time with pointless small talk. Somehow with her, it was different. It was oddly fine with him though. He glanced over his book at her, watching as she seemed to be reading the text with every picture.

“You’re not going to comment on the ‘was’?” he asked.

“Nope,” she replied, flipping another page. He didn’t ask again, but looked at his book. He was trying to concentrate but the fact that she didn’t ask made him wonder exactly why. Most people, especially women, always asked about his family or lack thereof. He hated it but it was just something people were fascinated in, death that is.

He stared at the same word, his mind not allowing him to move past it. He should be grateful he had a chance to read rather than being at each other’s throats. He needed to study. He needed to ignore her and just focus on himself. He needed to read past this fucking word.

“Got a new phone,” he said suddenly. He watched her lift her head, a small smile on her lips before she looked back at her lap.

“Better than the old one?”

“Less coffee.”

“That always helps,” she replied. She glanced up at him again, a smile toying at her mouth until she trained it to stop. The silence was back for a moment or two, he was able to move to the next sentence when he heard a page rustle.

“Sorry about your phone,” she said softly. He looked over his book to find her purposely not looking at him. And he thought he was acting childish.

Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her, “Bad day, princess?”

“No, I still think you’re an ass but the phone thing was a bit of….overkill,” she explained, her blue eyes found his and he watched as her face seemed to soften a bit with her confession. She was a woman made of steel and it was like he had taken a peak under all the metal walls.

“Don’t like cellphones?”

“I don’t like being ignored because of them. A common occurrence with your mother owns hospitals around the state. My dad was the only one who could get her off the damn thing sometimes,” There was a familiar smile on Clarke’s face that he recognized on Octavia when she thought back to their mother. It was sad, wishful and happy all at the same time.

“I’ll just keep my phone out of your reach from now on,” he replied, looking back to his book.

The silence came in a soft wave that settled in the small space. It was something that was both expected and relaxing once again. He could feel her eyes on him, he could see her feet move a bit to unlock her ankles and cross them again.

“You’re not going to ask about him?”

“Nope,” he replied, a simple word that was followed by a small smile and shake of her blonde head. She looked back to his book again and he did the same, the need for something between them had faded once more. It would be back because they were human and that was fine.

Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he thought.

**11:58 AM**

“Are you fucking serious? Women have started shit from the dawn of time! Chryseis was no different. If she hadn’t gotten herself captured in first place, then Achilles would’ve went into war with Agamemnon and the whole fucking war could’ve been avoided!”

“Oh and that’s Chryseis’ fault? Achilles was a dick who was quick to anger just because he literally hated the idea of trading his slave for another to end the death of the Greeks. That is one for the lives of thousands--”

“He loved Briseis, another woman might I add--”

“Thousands, Bellamy! Then he got pissy-”

“ _Letse_ , you did not just call fucking Achilles ‘pissy’--”

“Pissy! The Trojan War would not have been a fucking issue and Hector would still be alive!”

Bellamy ran his hand through his hair, pacing to the other side of the small elevator. He had his book open in his hands, mirroring the small blonde who did the same. How this had started, he honestly had no fucking clue but he would be damned if he lost an argument about Roman legend and mythology.

“Three words princess,” he smirked holding up three fingers in her face, “Helen. Of. Troy.”

“Not relevant, we are talking about the _Iliad_!”

“Which coincides within the time line of Helen of Troy in which she was taken by Paris, without her Achilles wouldn’t have stepped foot into Troy! Women have been _sanhi ng_ _pagkabagsak_ —shit, downfall of most cities.”

Clarke scowled, her hair had fallen from its pins and ties, falling around her shoulders now. Her shoes were off to the side with his own, both idly arguing in their socks surrounded by his books and documents to validate their stances. He had been slipping into Tagalog throughout the debate and it was rather…sexy in a way. And totally unfair. She glared up at him, both of them inches from each other as she poked his chest.

“She was taken by a man, you neanderthal! A man who decided that he wanted something and just fucking took it regardless of consequences! It could’ve been a fucking vase and someone would’ve declared war out of pure testosterone!”

Bellamy grinned at her, poking her shoulder back, “Oh did the mini feminist forget? The whole reason Helen was even taken by Paris is because she fell in love with him thanks to Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite’s ‘Miss Olympus’ competition.”

Clarke’s brow raised, “Did you just say ‘Miss Olympus’?”

Bellamy felt the tips of his ear burn a bit but kept a straight face, “I did, got a problem?”

Clarke folded her arms under her breasts, giving him a look, “Oh no, by all means continue.”

“Good I will, Paris won Helen fair and square because of a beauty contest by women. The Trojan War and the death of Achilles all led back to a group of woman having self-esteem issues.” He smirked at her. The dimple in his smile distracted her a bit more than it should have.

“So Paris takes no blame for being okay with taking another mans wife? None at all? He didn’t think to stop and go ‘maybe this is a bad idea’.”

Bellamy shrugged, “She was super hot.”

“You’re a pig.”

“I’m not wrong.”

_DING_

Both masters students looked over at the elevator door as it opened, the light from the seventh floor flooded in and illuminated their rather messy nest that they had made for themselves. The faces of a campus technician, a librarian and Wells Jaha looked back at them. Clarke looked at their wide eyes and surprised faces before looking back at Bellamy who seemed as surprised as her.

“You guys okay?” the technician asked.

“Uh, yeah..” Bellamy said. He had forgotten where he was for the past couple of hours, as if someone had opened the door to reality. Where was he again? How long had they actually been in a fucking elevator for? He toed on his shoes again and picked up his messenger bag, putting his books back into it.

Clarke picked up her boots from the ground, “Is the elevator working again?”

“Yeah, guess there was some kind of short fuse,” Wells said, “Like it got over loaded or something. He was able to rewire once he found out what elevator, what floor and had the right tools.”

Clarke glared over her shoulder at Bellamy as he picked up his papers. A innocent whistle left his lips and she wanted nothing more than to tell him a big ‘I told you it was your fault’ but instead she took a deep breath.

The history student kept his mouth shut, putting the last of his books in his bag, closing it properly this time and stepped out of the elevator. He glanced down at the book that was handed to him by a small pale hand. His eyes met hers and he realized that he had spent over an hour discussing the Iliad and the Trojan War with the girl who drowned his phone in his macchiato.

“Here, forgot this.”

He took it from her hands, fingers brushed against hers, “Thanks, no hard feelings for losing against the master?” he teased. She gave him a smile,

“No, you’re pretty good,” her eyes caught something behind him, “Hey I think you left a paper.”

Bellamy turned and walked back into the elevator, eyes searching.

“It right over there, in the corner.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Oh, sorry, guess that’s just left over from this entire thing being your fault!”

Bellamy spun around to watch the elevator door almost close, he could see that smug look on her face in the small crack before it closed shut again. He hit the metal with hiss, shaking out his hand after. He glanced at the buttons.

‘1’ was lit up and the elevator began moving down again, farther away from the archives that he needed to get to.

He takes it all back.

She was the fucking devil.


	3. Art History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompte: I take my grades very seriously and you’re the lazy asshole who asks a ton of off-topic questions to distract the professor (and piss me off) and I might be a foot shorter than you but I swear to god I’ll fight you AU

**1:12 PM**

He loved history, honestly he always had. When he was little his mother didn’t believe in telling regular stories, children’s books were fun to look at sure but she couldn’t really afford new kid’s books. But she did have a collection of his father’s old books. Late nights when he couldn’t sleep or before she left to work, she would sit next to his bed in their shitty little two bedroom apartment, a worn book in her hands.

_“Isara ang iyong mga mata, dayong.” (Close your eyes, darling)_

_The little boy, curled hair around his ears, uncut for months now with a tooth missing. His pajamas were just a t-shirt and worn drawstring pants. His bed was small, old sheets covered them with one pillow. His room was small and plain, tall standing light and a closet, toys here and there on the stained carpet floor._

_He tucked himself into the blankets, facing his mother on his side. He closed his eyes as he was told, not knowing then that it was because she had no pictures to show him. But it was okay because his mind was anything but passive and she knew that. Her boy was smart like his father._

_“Isang kuwento,”(One story) she said, running a hand through his hair, fingers against his soft scalp. He opened his brown eyes, brow furrowed._

_“'Nay!” (Mom)_

_“Isa.” (One.) She had that tone and he closed his eyes again._

_“Fine.” He mumbled back in English._

_“Minsan,” she began, “nagkaroon ng isang kawal, ang kanyang pangalan ay Mark Antony…”_

_(Once upon a time, there was a soldier, his name was Mark Antony…”_

Bellamy remembered giving his mother a scrunched up face of displeasure as she spoke of his epic affair with Cleopatra, the way he had started wars and ended them for her, though he had never known the real end to that story until he was older. Suicide wasn’t exactly the usual part of a five year olds education. He had grown up with something a bit better than fairytales yet he found himself still believing in heroes all the same just the ones that existed.

So why the fuck was it mandatory to take Art History class?

While trying to figure out his life, his job and his thesis, he was told last minute he had to add a class that was completely (boring) irrelevant to his actual degree. He was studying for his masters in History and the fact that this was one his term courses required made him want to hit his head against the wall. Luckily he was able to add late, thanks to his fantastic GPA.

The man walked into large lecture hall, the half circle of simple tables and chairs set up in a theater setting looking down on the simple chalkboard and desk at the front of the room. He looked around the room for a seat, students sat sporadically around the room, some still filing in like himself.

“Oh no,” he heard a faint voice mumble.

His eyes caught a pair of wide blue ones and he couldn’t help but smirk. His snarky ex-barista looked back at him from the fourth row, her hair was down this time in soft waves, some pinned back and out of her face. She wore a blue and white button up flannel, sleeves rolled to the elbow, her notepad out with a pen in hand. This was going to be good.

Bellamy made his way up the steps to sit a chair away from her. Her eyes followed him the entire time, her brow furrowed. He sat down and placed his bag on the ground, flipping the flap over to pull out his notebook.

“Be careful princess, your face will get stuck like that,” he teased, clicking his pen.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed between clenched teeth, “Are you following me now?”

He rolled his eyes, “Hardly, turns out I need this class and my advisor has problems.”

The blonde huffed, looking towards the front of the class again as the professor walked in with only a bag and his iPad. Bellamy didn’t recognize the professor because, well, he wasn’t a fucking art major and most professors stayed familiar in their own field. This man was dressed well, a tie and light blue button up with slacks. He was young, lines in his forehead and corners of his mouth.

Everyone was still getting settled, he glanced at Clarke’s notes. They were fucking immaculate. Of course they were, she was just the most uptight person he knew. He felt it again, that little kid inside him that wanted to pull her pigtails just to see that little purse of her lips when she was annoyed. It was back. And his impulse control sucked.

He leaned over a bit while she was tapping the end of her pen on the desk, reaching his right arm out toward her notes. Her head snapped to him, moving her notes just out of reach of him,

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously. He flashed her an innocent smile, leaning more to touch his pen to her perfect paper,

“Just looking at notes, princess, stingy much?” he said, she slid her notebook away again only for a dark line of black ink to draw over the margin of her paper. She gasped, looking at it as he grinned at her.

“You dick.” She said, that line in her forehead was back and her lips pursed in irritation. She moved her farther away from him as he leaned his chair to reach it again,

“Oh come on, aren’t you the art major?” he teased, reaching again as she lifted it up and to the left, trying to avoid his pen as he waved it around like a weapon. People around them glanced over at their antics and (hardly) whispered curses.

“That is not art, it is destruction of property,” she hissed.

“ _Magkakasingkahulugan_ ”, he replied as he reached again with a laugh.

She jerked to hold the page to her chest, “What does that even mean? Did you just insult me?”

“Griffin, do you mind?”

Both Clarke and Bellamy looked at the front of the room where the professor and the first couple of rows were looking at them. He already had the projector running with a picture of some kind of painting that Bellamy didn’t recognize. He leaned back into his chair as the blonde put her notebook back on the table,

“Sorry, Professor Kane,” she replied. He gave them both a disapproving look, giving the appearance of disappointed father rather than the art professor. He turned back to his tablet, making the image smaller to place another similar one next to it.

**1:57 PM**

The class was exactly what he thought it was, it was boring. They spoke about art styles specific to different art from Roman to Italian to Spanish, discussing the history of each piece yet somehow was able to ruin it by bringing up brush stroke and resources. He didn’t think anyone could ruin a history course but leave it to the fucking art majors to find a way.

“…recurrent tendency in the Late Antique period, and had a major revival in Carolingian and Ottonian art…”

God, it was only half an hour in and he wanted to nod off. He glanced at Clarke who seemed to be jotting down each topic, neat little bullet points with swirly cursive letters in purple pen. Her look of concentration was almost cute, how she had tucked her hair behind one ear, the way she bit her lip lightly when she was trying to write out a length piece of information.

Jesus, he was staring at her.

He looked back at the professor again.

“… Louis XIV was seen as the center of this form of classicism, with its references to the gods of Olympus as a symbolic prop for absolutism, an idea to try to get its audience to adhere to predictability and order.”

And now he was making Greek mythology boring.

He couldn’t stop from raising his hand and Professor Kane saw it immediately, not many people seemed to have many questions in this class. Or discussions. Or opinions. Or a Blake. Till now.

“Yes…?” The professor gave him a look.

“Bellamy Blake,” he replied,

“Yes, Mr. Blake?”

“What exactly was it about the Greek gods screams order and predictability?” he asked. He heard someone shift in their seat uncomfortably, “I mean, they literally started wars because they didn’t get their way.”

He could see the Clarke put her head into her hands, her pen lay on her notebook. The professor looked at him with something akin to confusion and slight contempt but leaned back on the edge of the desk anyway.

“Well, there was a definite hierarchy that they abided by and also had a religious following that commanded the devotion. Plus this era sought the revival of classical art, which encompassed Greek architecture,” Professor Kane explained.

Bellamy nodded, down turning his mouth in agreement before putting his hands behind his head casually, “But the question is…did these artist ever include the real classics?”

Kane put his tablet against his upper thigh, lifting his chin, “Excuse me?”

Clarke kicked him under the table.

“You know, were there any pieces made with Thesus?” Bellamy asked, never once cracking a smile though every part of him wanted to.

“No, I-”

“Jason?”

“That wasn’t something-”

“Bellerphon?”

“No, this was the age--”

“Cadmus?”

“He was not apart-”

“Not even Cadmus?”

“The Age of Enlightenment sculptors focused on the Greek civilization, particularly in its struggles against the Persian Empire and Olympus! None of those figures were relevant for the time they were trying to emulate, now can we please go back to the lecture, Mr. Blake?” Kane asked sternly. His eyes were trained on Bellamy but the history major just smiled and gave a nod.

The professor turned back to his tablet and he felt another hard kick to his shin.

“Ow,” he hissed.

“What are you doing?” she hissed back in a low whisper. He glared at her,

“Making this class more interesting,”

“Well stop it.”

Bellamy met her eyes, the look in them brightened the blue. He was leaning towards her and her towards him, he could see the beauty mark above her lip now. The tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose and the loose blonde strand that was too short to pull back. Her own eyes looked over his features as well and for some reason he felt his heart jump a bit at the realization. That was fucking weird. He looked away and so did she, both looking forward again.

The professor kept on like he did before, changing slide but still on the same topic of classicism. Clarke had gone back to her notes again while he retained absolutely nothing because he could probably just buy the damn book and pass the test if it went on like this. He glanced to his right at the barista, he could’ve sworn he saw her eyes move back to her paper.

And now that seven year old him was raising his hand again.

“Yes, Mr. Blake?” the professor called on him.

“So Alberti and that other guy realized they were literally executing copyright infringement on the entirety of the Greco-roman empire? That everything they made already existed.” He commented. He heard Clarke’s pen fall to her notebook.

Kane rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Yes, this was why it was called a revival. They mimicked-”

“Why not just conceptualize something themselves?” he asked.

“It wasn’t that simple. These were talented men who had decided that classical age was precursor of academicism and wanted to-”

“Copy it.” Bellamy finished.

“Are you done, Mr. Blake?”

“For now.”

“I hate you,” Clarke mumbled.

**2:23 PM**

She was going to punch him. She knew that something like this was bound to happen to her. She had gone weeks without running into him again after the elevator fiasco, finally got her theme for the gallery from the chairman (she would never say that the elevator getting stuck saved her being a part of the gallery). Raven paid the Netflix bill and she got another job, everything was perfect.

Too perfect.

She glared daggers at Bellamy, the entire class had sighed when he asked another pointless question that had more to do with the history than it did with art which was what this class was. He was just making sure that Kane couldn’t move past the third slide today for shits and giggles. The last time she tried to kick him under the table, he had caught her foot between his calves. Well-muscled calves but she didn’t really notice (at all).

She jumped when Bellamy hit his hand on the table, shaking it a bit, “But introducing paganism wasn’t even in their best interest! This was the 17th century in Europe, the entirety of the system--”

“Is irrelevant because it has nothing to do with their art!” she exclaimed, turning to him in her seat. He looked at her, something sparked in his eyes and she wanted to just wipe that smug look off his face. She was so done with him wasting her time when he didn’t even belong in this class!

“The art is supposed to be a representation of their culture but instead they just steal another man’s work centuries before,” he explained. Neither one of them looked at the professor. He was now no longer in the loop. This was between her and him. She could hear the chairs around her moving so that their peers could look at them.

“Don’t you get it? None of us care! We’re here to learn about ART history, just because you can’t be bothered with learning anything more than what you already know, don’t ruin our experience.” She demanded, pushing back her chair to stand up.

The smile on his lips fell at her slight toward him, his dark eyes narrowed at her. There was shift in his demeanor but it wasn’t intimidating. It was like back in the elevator and at the counter at the café. There was something primal about the way his shoulders squared, how his mouth set. A serious look came over his face and she would be blind not to notice the set of his jaw, making her want to run her hands over each hard angle. Nope, she did not just think that.

“Sorry, princess, but this is called an education. Everything in those art pieces are a reflection of some kind of historical reference or haven’t you noticed?” he growled, standing from his chair to tower her.

“This isn’t a history class, or haven’t you noticed? You cant always do whatever the hell you want!”

“Wow, that’s rich coming from you, princess! I think you’re just jealous because someone is actually smarter than you,” Bellamy smirked. She clenched her teeth.

“Why don’t you get your head out of your ass and realize that having a big mouth doesn’t mean you’re smarter, it just makes you more obnoxious.”

“Griffin, Blake, sit down.”

“Obnoxious? I’m obnoxious? Take a look in the mirror, princess. Temper tantrums don’t look good on you. Haven’t you learned from past mistakes yet?” He watched her cheeks burn with embarrassment at the mention of the café fiasco.

“Havent you? Stop finding ways to waste my time! This is my class!” she yelled. He rolled his eyes at her,

“This is my class too, I can talk about whatever I want!” he yelled back down at her. He still towered over her and it was pissing her off.

She let out a cry of frustration, pulling the chair from behind her.

“Griffin, do not--”

Clarke stepped onto the chair towering over the man who was becoming the bane of her existence,

“I will fucking fight you!” she let out, poking his chest.

His eyes were wide as he looked up at her this time, she wasn’t sure if he was shocked or confused by her random act of childish need to be looking down at him. She watched the corner of his lips twitch up and she felt the frustration in her chest deflate a bit. Before he could retort, a guy behind them slammed his hand on the table.

“Stop being a bitch and just sit the fuck down!” the student yelled.

Clarke wobbled in the chair from the shock of being yelled at by someone who was not even in the conversation. She felt a strong hand on her hip to steady her, her own hand touched the tanned forearm it belonged to.

Her eyes looked up and saw Bellamy glaring darkly at the other guy, his shoulders were tense and his body was more rigid than she had ever seen it. When he was arguing with her, his face and demeanor was different. Like he wasn’t really angry. But this…there was a tick in his jaw, his frame was taunt. His features seemed more dangerous, scary even.

He was pissed.

“Say another fucking word to her like that and I’ll break your jaw,” he growled. The boy shrank back in his seat.

“Griffin! Blake! Get out of my class now!” Kane stood off to the side, glaring at both of them. The tension in the air was thick, palpable. Neither argued though, Clarke unconsciously taking the hand Bellamy offered to her to help her off the chair and back onto the ground. They bother gathered their notebooks and bags before moving back down the steps and out the door.

**2:35 PM**

They didn’t say a word to each other as they walked through the hall of the art building, the silence wasn’t as tension filled as one would expect. It was just a bit odd only because neither of them was able to understand exactly what happened in there. A part of them didn’t want to look into it while the other part was still kind of freaking out about it.

They walked outside of the building, the afternoon sun shone through the arches a bit. It was getting darker later now, the trees were changing color.

“How do you say ‘thank you’ in Tagalog?” Clarke asked softly, glancing up at him. She still had a stubborn tilt of her chin but her voice was steady and way too sincere for what he was used to. “For, you know. Not for being an ass during class.”

He chuckled, “ _Salamat_.”

“Well then,  _salamat_.” She knew her tone was off and it sounded awkward and not as attractive as when he said it but instead of making fun of her he just gave her a grin.

“ _Walang anuman._ ” He replied. She felt tingled over her skin.

There was moment, a heartbeat between them before they realized exactly one thing: they were not arguing or killing each other. Jesus Christ, what is this?

“Umm, I have a class,” she said quickly, moving away from him towards the walk way. He rubbed the back of his neck,

“Right, me too. Uh, yeah.” He said and turned his heal, heading the other way. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked away, watching the wind pick up her hair and the sun shone on golden waves. Her walk was something he could get used to watching. Steady, confident with round hips swinging back and forth. 

He wasn’t a fan of Cleopatra but he knew the walk of a queen when he saw one


	4. Our Fathers Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I asked for your help getting a book off the top shelf and you laughed at my taste and made fun of me so I shoved you into a table of nonfiction best-sellers and that’s how we both got banned from the quirky bookstore AU
> 
> PS: made Bellamys father out to be an actually good guy

 

  
 

**5:50 PM**

The blonde looked up at the sky, her shoulders dropped as she leaned against the brick wall, trying to remain dry under the small window edge above her. She dug her hands into her pockets.

“This is your fault,” he mumbled at her.

“Shut up.”

**5:12 PM**

When it rained there were few places someone could find her. Her father was always the one who made everything fun, laughed and smiled when she knew that he was having a hard day. In the stormy days of winter, he hated staying in the house. He would take her to three different places: a bookstore, a move theater or a museum. But lightning storms were her favorite.

_“Daddy!” the small blonde grinned as she slid on the hard wood floors, her socks giving no traction. She just laughed and ran into her father’s office, “Daddy!”_

_Before she could even get the words out of her mouth, Jake was already standing in his rain coat, his hood up and his rain boots in his hands along with her small pink rain jacket. The eight year old laughed and grabbed her coat, pulling it on. Her father knelt down to zip it up for her,_

_“Rain boots?” he asked._

_“By the door.” She answered._

_“Spelling homework?”_

_“Done!”_

_“And what makes lightning?”_

_Clarke hummed, playing with the end of her blonde ponytail, “Negative charge finding a positive?”_

_Jake grinned, “You’re pretty smart you know that?”_

_Clarke ignored the compliment and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door._

_“Come on, lets go before its over!”_

_Jake laughed and let her pull him to the front house. They both put on their rain boots, the little girl pulled up her hood as he opened the door. The sound of rain and thunder echoed in the upper class neighborhood. While others were safely in their homes, the Griffins walked outside into the pouring rain, looking up at the lightning storm above._

_Clarke gasped and pointed at a large bolt flashed across the sky. Storms were never a bad thing._

Clarke always found herself doing the same thing she did as a kid during the rainy seasons, walking through museums with Wells or watching the lightening out on her fire escape. Raven reminded her of her father, always trying to educate her on electricity and magnetism and she let her because she enjoyed the look of excitement on her friends face. She knew that the girl would rather be sleeping or watching a movie with a project in her hands but the mechanic was always there to watch the lightning storms with her.

It was pouring already and it was only a little after five o clock.

The blonde walked into the homey bookstore, it was one of her favorites. It was a simple hole in the wall, a good walk from her apartment but she didn’t mind the rain. She wore simple jeans, white t-shirt with her pea coat, her purple scarf kept the wind off her neck. She placed her umbrella in rack near the door, the water dripped into the bottom of the metal container. The book store smelled of crisp pages and coffee, its contents were small but they valued the redistributing of old books.

Poetry printed origami hung from the ceiling, each lamp shade and decoration was made from books themselves. Wells had told her about this place and it was her favorite ever since. She walked through the small isles, looking for the section she wanted. She could go through this place for hours. She was in the mood for some fiction, maybe an erotic novel. Not that she would admit to reading those. Her eyes drifted over the spines of the paperbacks, all with worn pictures and creases.

She always liked the worn ones, it meant it was picked up more than once. She usually spent hours in here, wandering, so there was no rush to her lazy stride.

The artists eyes landed on a paper back on the top shelf, the bright red spine with a familiar authors name caught her eye. She went onto her tip toes, reaching her hand up but the tips of her fingers just grazed the wood of the shelf. There was no bottom ledge to put her foot on so she adjusted her coat and tried again.

“Damn it,” she mumbled.

“Need a chair?”

Her gaze snapped to her right, eyes landing on the one person she had not seen for a couple weeks now. Bellamy had dropped the class, opted for taking up a TA position for a history professor. Or at least that’s what he had obnoxiously told her in class after another argument where he dramatically dropped in to tell the professor he was out. Clarke narrowed her eyes at him, his lips were quirked into a smug smirk, his hair doing that sexy messy bed head thing. He wore a black leather jacket over a plaid button up. His dark jeans were spotted with drying rain, his shoes still wet.

“No, I can get it myself,” she replied, flashing him a fake smile before turning back to her book. She stretched for the book again, the tips of her fingers grazed the edge but only seemed to push it back farther. She glanced back and found Bellamy leaning against the bookcase behind her, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her with a smirk. Damn him.

She made a small noise as she got on her tip toes, one hand on a shelf while the other stretched up. She heard a chuckle behind her and she fell back on her heels again. With a sigh, she pointed up at the book,

“Please?” she asked, a bite to her tone.

Bellamy raised his brown almost into his hair line, “Please…?”

Clarke glared at him, pointing at the book like a little kid, “Can you please get the book down for me?”

“All you had to do was ask, princess,” he teased. His face made her mad, when she wasn’t looking at the spatter of freckles on his nose or his remarkably straight teeth. He stepped up behind her and easily plucked the book from the shelf. She held out her hand for it when he turned the paperback around to read the front. That shit eating grin appeared.

“Dark Lover?” he teased, holding the book up. She felt her face grow hot, the tips of her ears burned as he smiled at her, “I got into an argument about the Iliad with a girl who reads smutty erotica.”

“Bellamy, I swear to god—” Clarke reached for the book and like a seven year old on a playground he lifted up out of her reach, “Some of us are multifaceted!”

“Or sexually frustrated,” he replied with a chuckle, watching her bounce up and down to grab the novel from his hands. And to think she actually found this guy attractive! He put his broad back to her, one arm out and the other flipped open the paperback to read. His laugh echoed through the isle of books.

Clarke grunted as she tried to get around him, but he was quick to move like fucking defense on a basketball court. She reached under his arm again and he moved out of her way. Had it not been Bellamy of all people, she would’ve thought it was playful or cute but this…this pissed her off. He couldn’t judge her on her novels. Not even Raven said anything about them and god damn it if she didn’t want a little reprieve from painting and textbooks.

“You’re such an ass,” her loud library whisper was almost laughable to her. He chuckled,

“His hot throbbing cock was heavy in her palm. She looked up the length of his body--”

Clarke did the first thing that came to mind to make him stop reading her damn book out loud, with all her might she gave his back a shove like the child. She could swear that she lost maturity the longer she was around him and if she wanted proof it was the moment she watched him fall forward toward the middle isle….and a small table of nicely stacked non-fiction best sellers.

She covered her mouth, blue eyes wide as he smacked into the table, using it to hold himself steady but the books weren’t so lucky. All the hard backs tumbled to the ground, crashing onto the hard wood floors like thunder in the small bookstore. Bellamy had dropped her book as he tried to make sure the table wasn’t going to fall as well, but the rest of the damage was a lost cause. The history major shot a look at her, a mean glare that she could only wince at.

“Sorry,” she said softly, as if being quiet would make this less her fault. Everyone in the small bookstore was already looking at them, including the owner.

**5:51 PM**

Which is how they found themselves outside of the quirky bookstore they both enjoyed, standing in the doorway to avoid the shower before them. Bellamy looked through the glass of the front door waving at the girl at the counter and pointing to the umbrella holder than had both his and Clarke’s umbrellas. The girl just glared at him and turned her head. He sighed and turned back around to look at the streets. It was one hell of thunder storm, the streets were partly flooded and everything looked like water colors.

“They could’ve at least let us grab our umbrellas,” he mumbled. The blonde scoffed,

“If you didn’t knock over the table--”

“Do not start with me, princess.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” she sighed, crossing her arms, “I live almost six blocks away and I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Bellamy looked at her, really looked at her, he could see the redness in her face from embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if it was for getting kicked out or for pushing him into the table of books but it was sort of cute. God, this was terrible. He needed to get his head on straight. This girl argues with him, plays dumb games with him, gets him kicked out of his favorite bookstore and he was thinking she was cute.

“Come on,” he said with a sigh, stepping out into the rain. He squinted at her as the water hit him, his hair, his face. Her brow was furrowed in that really annoying confused way. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand in his, pulling her into the rain as well.

“I live just two blocks from here. We can go there, I have an extra umbrella,” he explained. He headed toward his apartment, her hand securely in his own.

Neither of them thought too hard on the way he firmly had his larger hand around hers, mostly because the way the heavy rain was pelting on them was enough of a distraction. It didn’t take long before their jeans and coats took a darker shade of color, their hair stuck to their necks and sides of their faces. She could feel her boots getting cold as water made its way inside as they walked through puddles. Walking was putting it nicely.

“You realize my legs are shorter than yours right?” she called to him over the sound of the rain and the cars. He didn’t slow down his fast walking, his hand never wavered from hers though.

“Option B is putting you over my shoulder fireman style.”

“Never mind.”

“I thought so.”

Bellamy pulled the blonde down a couple of streets until he could see his apartment building come into view. His view was relative because god knows he couldn’t see shit through this rain. His clothes were soaked and he knew that she wasn’t much better off. He set into a light jog as they crossed the street, more puddles drowning their socks on the way. He heard a small sound from the girl but not much else as they reached the complex. His was the top half of the condo, making sure he held tightly to Clarkes hand as they went up the slippery steps.

By the time he had opened his door and they both fell through, thunder crashed behind them, his empty home echoed with the sound of rain on the roof and window panes. He pulled off his jacket and hung it on the antique coat rack near the door, helping the blonde peel off hers as well.

“Cold cold cold…” she mumbled as she shivered, he could practically hear her teeth chattering.

“Hold on,” he said, toeing out of his boots before jogging (more like awkwardly slipping) down the hall to his bedroom. He ignored the way his clothes dripped onto his bedroom carpet, pulling open his drawers to fish out his warmest clothes for her which ended up being a pair of draw string sweat pants and a black long sleeve shirt. He shivered a bit, mumbling curses as he slipped back down the hall.

The blonde stood where he had left her, holding herself and looking more like a wet cat then the girl who bitched him out in front of a lecture. He held out the clothes to her and she happily accepted them.

“Change out of those, b-bathroom is right there,” he pointed to the first door on the right of the hall and she nodded following his direction. He was pretty sure this was first time she ever just listened to him without argument before.

**6:24 PM**

He had changed into a pair of maroon sweatpants and a t-shirt, a black towel over his head as he tried to dry the rain from his hair. He needed a haircut as soon as possible, this was getting ridiculous. His wet curls stuck to his face as he settled the towel around his neck, eyes searching for his house guest for a moment before he spotted her in front of his bookshelf. His apartment was small, a living room connected to a small kitchen and one bedroom-one bath. While it didn’t give as much room as he would like, he always found room for the bookshelves his mother left him, they were thick, hard cherry wood that probably cost a fortune.

“Sorry, I don’t have any erotica here,” he teased, watching the blonde jump. She looked tiny in his clothes, the pants pooled at her feet, she was curvy enough for the drawstring but the shirt hung on her, sleeves covering her hands while her hair sat on her shoulder in a damp twist. She looked almost harmless but he knew better.

“Ha ha, you think you’re pretty funny, huh?” she said with a roll of her eyes, looking back at the books. He chuckled and walked over to stand next to her, leaning against the edge of the sturdy bookcases. “How did you even get these up those steps?” she asked softly, mostly in suspicion.

He shrugged, “Lots of team work, princess.”

“Why not just get lighter ones?” she asked, an obvious question yet it made him scowl regardless. He knew she meant no harm so he quickly corrected his reaction.

“They were my dad’s. All the books on the right one are his,” he said. He watched her blue eyes drift over to the right, looking at all the old spines and worn covers. Some were held together with rubber bands while others were still in modest shape, but most were first editions that his father had collected over the years. She reached out and gently ran her fingers over the spine of an old copy of Norse mythology book, a smile came to her lips.

“Historian?” she asked softly. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Over educated car mechanic,” he replied. She looked up at him, not with sympathy, thank god, but with something he could only identify as empathy. He remembered then that she had mentioned her own father being deceased. “You?”

“Engineer,” she replied. He realized then that rain seemed to wash away the barriers they held before, that need to pull her pig tails was gone and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the rain or that he already had her attention. Since when had he wanted it? There was a silence between them as she continued to browse over the spines of his favorite pastime.

“Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” he asked hesitantly. He could practically hear his mother in his head with her need him to be _mabait_ and it was engrained him like a virus. Plus he wanted to make sure that she wasn’t cold anymore, something Octavia called the ‘big brother syndrome’.

The blonde smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkled and for a moment he felt his face heat at the smile she gave him. Suddenly he was in sixth grade again, opening the door for his crush and her noticing him for the first time.

“So you are nice when youre in your natural habitat,” she teased with a laugh. He rolled his eyes and strolled past her towards the kitchen, trying not to pout at her stupid teasing. See if he doesn’t anything nice for her again.

“Pick one or nothing, princess,” he called behind him.

“Tea please!”

He chuckled to himself, bare feet padded across the hard wood floors to the stove. He filled the electric water heater before setting it back and flipping on the switch on the side. Octavia had finally convinced him to get rid of his plain old tea kettle, calling him an old man and needing to get with the times. He grumbled about it still and would never admit to her that he liked it on nights like this. He glanced at the window above the sink, he could hear the thunder, the rain still coming down steady.

“My dad had this book too, though a 1750 edition.”

Bellamy jumped at the new sound, turning to look at Clarke who had found herself one of his father’s old books, the binding was bridle and thread bare. He knew the book the moment he had glanced at the pages, the browning color quickly gave it away. He had noticed the way she held it in reverence, carefully with an honor he had rarely seen anyone use with the exception of his mother and Octavia.

“He used to read that to me, but after--” he cleared his throat, this was getting too personal for someone he rarely saw, “he passed my mother didn’t want to risk ruining it.”

Clarke looked up from the book and met his eyes, she was too smart not to catch the fact that he was sharing far too much but it had been awhile since he had told anyone anything like this, at least to someone who understood to a point. He still remembered their conversation in the elevator, the way she ignored his mention of his mother in past tense and he ignored her fathers. It was a mutual respect and he kinda liked it.

“I always thought he was a fool,” she said leaning against the door frame of the kitchen. She caught his furrowed brow and pointed to the book, “Don Quixote.”

“Whoa, he was not a fool. He was the last real chivalrous knight there was!” he argued, leaning back against the counter. She had the gall to roll her eyes at him, giving him a look like she was reprimanding a child.

“Yes, in a time that didn’t need knights. There was no one who needed saving,” she said, holding out the book to him, “He fought windmills.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t out of his mind, I just said he wasn’t a fool.”

“That makes no sense, Bellamy.”

The young historian took the book from her hands, shaking his head at her. He ignored the way his heart got lighter when she challenged him, it was something that was new to him. Most of the girls he talked to could hardly keep up with him. Well, Clarke wasn’t just some girl he was talking to and it wasn’t like he liked her or anything. She was just…an annoying acquaintance.

“People needed him to be a knight, they just didn’t know it until they realized what they were missing. Aldonza swore up and down that she wasn’t worth anything but what life gave her until he changed the way she saw herself and what she deserved. He was crazy but not a fool,” he said softly, holding the book in his hands carefully, his thumb caressing the frayed binding on the corners.

_“That’s silly, papa!”_

_“Ah, it is silly but a man’s beliefs can seem silly to people. Sometimes silly just means different, and different is okay.”_

A bolt of lightning brought his eyes up from his hands to her eyes. They looked at him intently, he felt like his soul was exposed right then and he wanted to turn his back to her. Something kept him in place, that feeling that made his heart beat a bit faster. The hot water heater clicked behind him and he pulled back from the force that was Clarke, placing the book on the kitchen table before pulling two mugs from the cupboards above the stove.

“How did he pass?” she asked softly. He paused for a moment, usually hating when people asked that question but from her it seemed sincere not just idle curiosity like most. He placed small metal strainers over both mugs, taking an old canister from the cupboards and putting small scoops of tea leaves on each. He felt her step closer behind him to watch.

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” he answered. His father was at the wrong place at the wrong time, someone had tried to steal one of the cars that was there. His father was a man of chivalry, didn’t know when to just call it a windmill. He poured the hot water over the tea leaves, watching the water fill each cup. “You?”

“Brain tumor,” she said softly, “Mom knew but never told me. He hemorrhaged while I was in my first year of college out of state.”

His eyes looked at her as he placed the water heater back where it belonged. The room wasn’t filled with tension as most conversations like this leads, instead it was comfortable. Two adults to had to deal with sudden death far too quickly. He picked up one of the mugs and handed it to her,

“Mangosteen tea,” he said with a small amount of pride, “The only tea my sister will drink.”

The blonde took the cup from his hands, the leaves still soaking in the strainer. She looked up at him and smiled, damn it, his heart did that weird skip thing that made him want to just look away from her. Lightning flashed and it lit up the room, Clarke didn’t jump but grinned almost excited. He couldn’t help the smirk the quirked at his lips.

“You’re kind of weird, princess,” he mumbled, walking over to the windows in the living room, turning out the lights as he went. Clarke followed behind him, the window was pushed out enough to use the lip of the window sill as a small seat. He pulled back the curtains, the city was fuzzy with rain drops on the window pane, the lightening wasn’t far in between which meant it was close to them. The blonde took a seat on the window sill, one leg up while the other was on the floor, her small toes poking out from under his grey sweatpants.

“My dad would’ve liked you,” she said with a smile, “I still think youre a pompous ass, but he would’ve liked you anyway.”

Bellamy couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his chest, he honestly couldn’t expect a better compliment from her. He met her eyes and shrugged with a grin,

“My mother would’ve already tried to get us on a date, would’ve pinched the back of my arm each time I made fun of you,” he chuckled. The lightning flashed again, sounding like a symbol throughout his apartment, lighting it up. He acted like he didn’t notice how her eyes looked electric in the bright light or the way they filled with childlike excitement.

“How do you say lightning in Tagalog?” she asked.

“ _Kidlat_ ,” he replied, unable to look away from her. He could see the way she attempted the word silently, only a soft breath came with the motion her mouth. She glanced at him, prepared to speak but there was something that stopped her.

He didn’t know what it was, maybe the atmosphere, maybe just the fact they actually found some sort of peace and haven’t ripped out each other’s throats yet. He didn’t know but the moment another flash of lightning came, it didn’t stop him from leaning down toward her.

“ _Kid-late_?” she mumbled, blue eyes glanced from his eyes to his lips. He was a man of shitty impulse control and he knew this. He also knew that when a boy wants to pull a girls pigtails for their attention, they usually want to actually kiss them.

So he did.

Her lips tasted like rain water and something that was completely Clarke. He tested them, waiting for her to pull away as he brushed his lips over hers. When she didn’t, he used his free hand to steady himself in his bent position on the wall behind her, caressing her lips into moving with his. His head spun, filled with that hazy feeling that made him wonder why he didn’t do this sooner. He felt her tongue brush along the seam of his bottom lip, almost making his knees buckle as he opened for her. Why had he been wasting time arguing with her when they could be using their mouths for better things?

The lightning was forgotten, all that they could hear was the soft breaths as they pulled away for a moment to find each other again. It was a magnet, something that was both irrational and a need, god he didn’t understand but he liked the way her lips fit against his.

“Whoa, should I come back later, bro?”

Both masters students jumped away from each other, Clarkes loose grip of her mug had suddenly turned firm, making the hot water slosh and spill over the side, taking the strainer with it and onto Bellamy’s sweatpants.

“Fuck! Hot! Jesus Christ!”

“Im sorry! I just--”

“Seriously? Why the hell are you making out with hot beverages?!”

“ _Letse_!”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, let me--”

“Just take off your pants Bell, she was going to see it anyway.”

“Octavia!”

**7:13 PM**

“So are you and my brother a thing?” The brunette asked, pulling up to Clarkes condo. The blonde had her head in her hand, leaning her elbow on the car door the entire five blocks to her place. After calming Bellamy down, getting back into her own clothes, avoiding eye contact and ignoring the bickering siblings, Octavia offered her a ride home instead of an extra umbrella.

“No definitely not,” she answered, “Im the one who drowned his phone.”

Octavia let out a bark of laughter, until just falling into a fit of giggles that had Clarke staring at the poor girl like she had grown another head. Most people found that story appalling not funny and as his sister, she expected a bit of anger. Instead the girl cackled, having to lean against the steering wheel as the laughing started to hurt her sides.

“Did I miss something?” she mumbled. Octavia shook her head before wiping away stray tears.

“No, no, its just, of course you are, you know?” The Blake said with a shit eating grin, “It’s hard to explain, lets just say that most girls don’t get to try my mother’s imported tea, okay?”

Clarke stood on her porch in confusion, lips still tingling from her make out session with the grumpy history student with a superiority complex. This was why she needs to date more girls.

 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> (Dont forget to comment! I live on feedback)


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